


Restrictive Waters

by truth_renowned



Series: One-Word Prompts [2]
Category: Agent Carter (TV)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, F/M, Peggy gets thinky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-10
Updated: 2017-04-10
Packaged: 2018-10-17 01:30:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10583601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/truth_renowned/pseuds/truth_renowned
Summary: Peggy's son asks her about her wardrobe. The resulting talk isn't exactly what she is expecting. Inspired by the one-word Tumblr prompt of "stockings".





	

“Mommy, why do you wear stuff on your legs?”

Peggy and four-year-old Michael were sitting on the living room floor, Tinker Toys scattered around them. She'd barely made it in the door, suitcases still in her hands, when Michael ran to her and hugged her legs. He then led her to the tower he was building.

She was dressed in work attire, a business suit, though she had removed her jacket and kicked off her shoes. Michael’s small hand reached out and plucked at her nylons, which were bunching around her knees after the 10-hour flight home.

“They’re called stockings, dear.”

“Sock…?”

“Say it with me,” Peggy prompted. “Stock…”

Michael’s eyes narrowed in concentration. “Stock…”

“Kings,” she finished.

“Kings.”

“Together. Stock… kings.”

“Stock… kings.”

“Perfect!”

Michael gave her a proud, toothy smile. “So why do you wear ‘em?”

The question gave her pause but she recovered quickly. “Well, this is something that society has decided is appropriate for ladies.”

“Who?”

“Society. The people around us. Proper ladies wear stockings.”

“What does…” He paused, mouth trying to make the new word, “pro… per mean?” 

“It means doing those things that are expected of you.”

“So why do pro… per ladies haffa wear ‘em?”

Peggy opened her mouth to respond, then closed it. 

_Why indeed?_ she thought. Admittedly, women had come a long way from floor-length Victorian garb covering every inch of skin. However, society still clung to that archaic notion that sheathed legs were more demure. It was just one of many archaic notions that hung over women everywhere. There had been some small victories in the past, but Peggy longed to see real change. She hoped she would see that shift in the tide to respect and true equality for women during her lifetime. It was tiring to constantly swim in these restrictive waters.

“As I said,” she finally replied, “society says this is what ladies should do, so we do it.”

Michael chewed on his lower lip for a few seconds before asking, “Does Daddy haffa wear ‘em?”

“No, men do not wear stockings.”

“Do I haffa wear ‘em?”

“No, honey, you don’t.”

He turned his attention back to his tower, but in less than a minute, he turned to his mother.

“Do you like wearing stock… kings, Mommy?”

Peggy hesitated, unsure how to handle her answer. Should she voice the proper lady answer, or the one a woman constantly swimming against the societal tide would give? She decided on both.

“No, I don't like them. They're uncomfortable and have a tendency to get holes in them easily. And they are very warm, especially in the summer.” She raised her hand as Michael opened his mouth to speak. “But I still wear them. Sometimes we have to do things that we don't _want_ to do, but we do them anyway because it's what we _should_ do.”

Michael tilted his head, an adorable gesture that usually meant he was confused.

“When I ask you to pick up your toys, do you _want_ to do it?”

He shook his head, his frown pronounced.

“But you do it anyway because I asked you to and because it's the right thing to do. It's proper.”

Michael’s brow furrowed, which meant he was processing her words. She loved these talks with him, watching him grow intellectually, seeing the proverbial light bulb pop on over his head. After several seconds, his forehead softened and he nodded.

“Does Daddy like you to wear ‘em?”

“It doesn't matter if I like them or not.”

Peggy turned around to see her husband leaning against the hallway wall.

“What matters,” Daniel continued as he moved into the living room, “is that if your mommy wants to wear them, then she should. It's her choice.”

Michael nodded as if the sentence made complete sense to him. He then turned to Peggy. “Is that why you don't wear ‘em all the time?”

“Exactly,” Peggy replied. “I don’t wear them at home so that I can be comfortable. You don't mind that I don't wear them here, do you, Michael?”

The boy looked at Peggy, then his father, then back to her. “It dun’t matter what I think, Mommy. It's your choice.”

Her heart swelled at her son’s words. Sometimes she couldn't believe how smart, how thoughtful Michael was. He was more and more his father’s son every day.

“Time for bed, buddy,” Daniel said softly. “You promised to go right to bed if I let you stay up until Mommy got home.”

Michael frowned, and Peggy knew a complaint wouldn’t be far behind, but the boy looked at his mother and sighed.

“I haffa do what I don’t wanna do ‘cause it’s pro… per.”

Peggy held out her arms and Michael stepped into them, giving her a big bear hug.

“Goodnight, my proper little poppet,” she said, giving him a kiss on the cheek. “I love you.”

The boy straightened up and plodded down the hallway, Daniel following close behind.

 _This is the best kind of homecoming_ , she thought as she rose from the floor and started picking up Tinker Toys. Michael’s tower was less than a foot high, but it was meticulously crafted and perfectly matched the picture on the container. She carefully placed the tower on the mantle.

Despite the chaos of having two small children, this was her relaxing place. Being here with her family, watching her children blossom, was where she was at her happiest.

After cleaning up, she thought about going in to give Beth a goodnight kiss, but she knew their daughter would wake up. The two-year-old was even more difficult to get to bed than her brother, so she decided against it, instead settling on the couch with a content sigh.

She chuckled quietly. Of all things, Michael wanted to know why she wore stockings. She marveled at his inquisitiveness, especially at such a young age. This made him a handful, that was for sure, but she loved him all the more for it.

Swinging her legs onto the couch, Peggy stretched out and sunk into the comfortable cushions. She laughed again as her hands went under her skirt to the garter straps, unhooking each on one leg, then the other. She then shed the stockings and let them fall to the carpet. _Bloody restrictive, archaic things_ , she thought, letting out another content sigh as she closed her eyes. 

It wasn't long before she heard the familiar click of Daniel’s crutch getting closer, but she didn't open her eyes until she felt the warmth of his hand on her knee. She moved her legs off the couch, and he sat next to her. 

“Bring your legs back up,” he said.

She wasn’t about to argue, draping her legs over his lap. His hand smoothed over her bare calf.

“Knew those were coming off soon,” he said, nodding to the nylon pile on the carpet. “I never realized how much you hated wearing stockings. If you don’t like them, why wear them?”

“Because I want to be taken seriously,” she said with a shrug. “I know that sounds silly, nylons making me more serious, but it works.”

Daniel tilted his head in confusion in the same endearing way as his son, and she couldn't help but smile.

“A woman in my position is almost unheard of. That alone means I do not play by society’s rules, but I do have to make an effort to keep up some appearances, so to speak.” She sighed. “I’ve found over the years that you have to choose your battles. It’s difficult enough getting a seat at the table when you’re a woman, but if you’re a woman who doesn’t follow the other rules, the simple ones, you are dismissed almost immediately. If playing by some of society’s outdated rules will get someone to listen to what I have to say, then I’ll wear the bloody stockings. It’s a small inconvenience in the big picture.”

Her husband nodded, his fingers absently drawing stripes over her skin. “Michael has a very smart mommy.”

She laughed. “His daddy is no slouch in that department, either.”

She caught a hint of a smile on his lips as he dipped his head down, placing a light kiss just below her knee. She let out another sigh, this one a mixture of contentment and arousal. His fingers pushed her skirt aside as his mouth painted wet kisses on her knee, then lower thigh, then mid-thigh, then...

“Daniel, stop that,” she chastised half-heartedly. “I do not want to explain to our son why Daddy has his head under Mommy’s skirt.”

She felt his chuckle against her skin. “He is a little young for that conversation, isn’t he?”

“Indeed.” 

Daniel lifted his head, and Peggy’s fingers combed through his pomade-free hair. He leaned toward her, their mouths meeting in a soft kiss.

“You want a hot bath?” he asked.

She smiled. “You know I do. Do you want to watch?”

His smile matched hers in intensity and mischief. “You know I do.”

They got up from the couch and walked hand-in-hand out of the living room, the pile of stockings long since forgotten.


End file.
